John Sheppard was dying A Vegas Tag
by Tangled up in Blu
Summary: The first of a four part tag for the episode "Vegas" focusing on the possibility of a friendship between McKay and a broken John Sheppard in the Vegas Universe. Rated T for language
1. Chapter 1

John Sheppard was dying . . . and all he could feel was relief. Really, it was long overdue. He knew he should have died in the sands of Afghanistan but some cruel twist of fate had spared him. John turned his head and tried to spit the taste of salty penny from his mouth but couldn't get enough air to expel it. John ran his tongue across his teeth and grimaced.

Maybe he was spared so he could do this, this one redemptive act, John thought, trying not to fight for his breath but unable to stop himself. Not that this made up for Afghanistan – nothing could do that. But maybe keeping the Wraith busy long enough for the boys in blue to bomb him back to hell – or wherever these things came from – was enough.

John was okay with death. In fact, he welcomed it – had courted it from time to time. John was tired, tired down to his soul and the release death would grant him was like a warm lover beckoning him. As he stared up into the darkening sky, John smiled – or thought he did. He was cold but it was almost as if he could feel himself rising . . .rising into the sky to take flight once more time.

_________

Rodney McKay could see the plumes of black smoke on the horizon. It looked like something from a Stephen King Apocalyptic novel as it rose against the setting sun. Checking his watch again, Rodney bit his tongue to keep from badgering the pilot to go faster. He knew they were flying as fast as they could. Jennifer Keller squeezed his arm reassuringly as she said over her mike, "We'll get there in time . . ." Rodney didn't answer. This universe hadn't been as kind to John Sheppard as others and Rodney didn't want to get his hopes up that Sheppard's luck was going to change.

As the chopper set down gently next to the battered Camero, Rodney beat the medics out of the door, closely followed by Jennifer. Rodney anxiously looked around shouting, "Sheppard!" Running towards the car, Rodney could make out a form on the sand about 20 feet beyond. "Damn, damn, damn, damn," Rodney muttered as he skid to his knees beside John, immediately checking for a pulse. "He's not breathing," Rodney shouted behind him as he ripped John's shirt own to reveal the bullet wound high in John's chest along with a myriad of other cuts and abrasions. "Don't you die on me, Sheppard!" Rodney said through clenched teeth as the field medics jostled Rodney out of the way. An oxygen mask dropped over Sheppard's face and CPR was begun. Rodney stumbled back, running his hand worriedly over his face and said in a low voice, "You stubborn, suicidal, son of a bitch. You aren't done yet."


	2. Chapter 2

The staccato of bullets made John flinch as he dove to the side. Looking up into the sky in the hopes of seeing back up, John thought with panic, "They're all going to die if I don't do something." John peered over the rise and could see the enemy Taliban soldiers as they cut through the village, slaughtering everyone they came across. John eyed the hut he knew contained Katie and the rest of the medical contingent. Stealthily he maneuvered around the rise and approached the dwelling from the back. Using the butt of his weapon like a hammer, he pounded through the dried mud of the back wall and squeezed through the opening.

"No, no, no, no, no . . ." John whispered desperately as he took in the sight of destruction. Blood and body parts were strewn all over the walls and floor of the hut. "They're civilians, why kill civilians?" John asked in a strangled voice. Frantically, he reached for the first body he could to check for a pulse. Pulling the body gently towards him, he let out a startled yelp when the head remained on the floor. "Jesus, God . . ." John said desperately scrambling back. Looking around, he spied a veil partially covering a mass of bloody blonde hair. Moving as quickly has he could on his knees, he reached the woman – knowing what he would find but unable to stop himself.

The blood coming from the neck wound actually shot in the air like a geyser, hitting John in the face and chest. John pulled Katie to him, rocking. They hadn't been dating long, just a couple of weeks, but it had been the first promising relationship John had had since joining the military. Pulling back to look in her face, John was stunned when Katie's eyes focused on his.

"Katie?"

"Where were you Johnny . . . .? You said . . . . You said you'd take care of . . . ."

John's stomach rolled up, lodging itself in his throat making it difficult to breathe and he looked away, trying to control the burning in his eyes. "Katie, I . . ."

"You were supposed to protect us . . . you were. . ."

John backed away from the accusing eyes, mumbling "Katie, I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . ."

John turned to flee but was brought up short by the figure of Dr. Rodney McKay, covered in blood. John instinctively reached out to steady the man but McKay's knees buckled and John could only keep him from hitting the floor too hard.

"McKay?" John asked confused. "What the hell?"

"I once met another version of you . . ." McKay wheezed. Blood began to seep from McKay's mouth, eyes, and ears. "He was a hero . . . he saved the world . . ." McKay gasped. As blood continued to wash over John's hands, he felt the intense heat of self-loathing wash through him. McKay only confirmed his feelings when he whispered; "He was nothing like you . . ." before falling over – dead.

John groped to find his footing, looking once more in horror and despair at the bodies of friends and loved ones that he could not save. Turning to leave, John fell as a hand slammed him to the ground. The face of the Wraith twisted into a snarl inside the traditional Taliban clothing as the it's hand slammed again into Sheppard's chest. Leaning into John's face, the wraith whispered, "I'll show you your destiny . . . . John Sheppard . . . ."

The pain in John's chest was incredible as the wraith began to suck his life away. John struggled but couldn't breathe. Breaking out into a blind panic, John thrashed, trying to dislodge the hand on his chest and catch his breath. The scream in his mind was stuck on a perpetual loop "I can't breathe! I can't Breathe! I Can't Breathe! I CAN"T . . . . ."

__________________

BREATHE . . ." John threw himself up swinging his arm and catching something solid. The pressure holding him down eased for a minute accompanied by the sound of crashing equipment. John immediately began clawing at this throat and mouth trying to restart his airflow.

"Damn it Sheppard! Stay still! Stay still! You're okay! . . .Get this thing out of him!"

John blinked once then twice as reality reasserted itself. Looking wildly around him he realized that it wasn't a wraith holding him down, it was a couple of orderlies. He flopped back to the mattress, "a hospital . . . I'm in a hospital . . ." he thought to himself. The particulars of the dream reasserted themselves once again and John wasn't sure what was real. Did the wraith kill Katie and McKay before he could get there? Was he still in Afghanistan?

Jennifer Keller's face swam into view as she firmly took him by the shoulders.

"Detective? Can you hear me?"

John's wild eyes settled on Jennifer for a moment before he nodded mutely.

"Detective, I'm going to remove the tube that's helping you breath but I'm going to need you to sit up and cough when I tell you. Do you understand?"

John nodded pushing himself up immediately. Anything to be rid of the pressure in his throat and chest.

"Okay," Jennifer said calmly and confidently. "Here we go . . . I need you to cough on three . . . One . . . Two . . . Three . . ."

John coughed with all his strength and was bothered by how weak it sounded. However, it was enough to do the job.

Setting the tubing by the side of the bed, Jennifer pulled out a pen light and peered into John's left eye – then his right.

"Do you know where you are?" Jennifer asked patiently.

"Hospital," John croaked and then grimaced at the pain in his throat.

"That's right," Jennifer smiled encouragingly. "And do you remember what happened?"

John flinched as the image of shattered and broken bodies flashed across his mind. "Not sure . . ." he croaked out again.

A familiar voice from his other side spoke up. "You saved the world, Detective."

John swiveled his eyes to the other side of the room and the image of Dr. Rodney McKay holding his hand to an already swelling eye – but otherwise standing whole and healthy in front of him.

John fought for control but was unable to keep his eyes from shutting as his breath hitched.


	3. Chapter 3

John could hear the whirl of machinery around him as he slowly opened his eyes. The lights in his area had been dimmed to simulate nighttime but John had no idea what time it was. Moving gingerly, John looked under the sheet and was surprised to find that while the bullet wound was still red and angry, the hole had completely closed. His mind floated back to what McKay had said about him being a hero and he snorted. "Stupid, Lucky, Suicidal - maybe - but a hero? I don't think so." He didn't think he had done anything that anyone else wouldn't have done in the same situation. And honestly, he had done it pretty badly. He could just kick himself for approaching the trailer head on – it was pretty much a rookie mistake.

John shifted again. His chest and collarbone hurt but not enough to truly concern him. He looked around wondering where everyone was – not that he expected anyone to be holding vigil over him. "Nope - not me. I'm a 'solitary man,'" John hummed a few bars. "I'm a loner and that's how I like it." He laughed but it was a hard sound when he realized that he had just described the typical serial killer. "Yep, I can see Mrs. What' her face next door talking to the press – '_he seemed like a nice young man, nice looking but he kept to himself. I just can't believe he killed all those people . . ._'" Twelve people – John had killed twelve people.

John ran his hands over his face, trying to halt his train of thought. "I want off," he thought sardonically. He was antsy. He wasn't one to sit still and contemplate his life. In fact, John would pretty much rather have his fingernails pulled out than to indulge in introspection. No, John needed to move and the impulse suddenly become overwhelming. "Just how long have I been in here?" He looked again at his chest and an idea occurred to him. The wound looked like it was two weeks old – not two days. "Have they been drugging me?" John thought quickly and then made a snap decision "Time to go." He looked around again to ensure that no one was in sight and pushed up to sitting position, swinging his legs over the side.

John closed his eyes and breathed deeply hoping the nausea would pass and after a minute the worst of it did. "Shit, that hurt." His bare feet struck the frigid floor soundlessly and John glanced around looking for his boots and clothes. Seeing nothing of his in the immediate area, John grimaced. "At least my ass isn't hanging out one of those hospital gowns," John thought, momentarily thankful for the loose fitting scrubs he was wearing.

Slowly moving to the corridor, John paused when he realized that it was deserted; not only of people but of hospital equipment, doctors, nurses, anything. Frowning he made his way to a window at the end of the hall.

"Great! That's just . ... Great!" John muttered frustrated as he took in the view of nothing but sand under the bright moonlight outside the window. There was no way he would last on foot with no shoes and no supplies. "OK Sheppard, on to Plan B. Child's Play – you know – if the child was 6'4 and 220 pounds and grumpy from a dirty diaper." Realizing that he was talking out loud, he clamped his mouth shut.

John turned away looking for a stairway. Surely a place like this had a motor pool or someone was working late. He hated to hot wire car but instinct told him he needed to leave now before something else happened.

John followed the stairs down to the main floor. By now his collar bone and chest had begun to throb and an unhealthy sweat had broken out over his face. Cracking the door open, he spied M.P.'s at the entrance of the building. He eased the door shut again before he began to swear "Shit. Shit. Shit. Okay, Plan C - third times a charm." John took a couple of deep breathes and moved down the stairs towards the basement, slowly opening the door.

The corridor was clear as John eased out of the stairwell. Gaining more confidence, he headed in the opposite direction, hoping to find another stairwell that would lead back up to a rear exit of the building. As he jogged down the corridor, he began to see spots but never slowed, seeing his objective in the distance. In fact, he was so focused on the door that he never saw the person coming around the corner until it was too late. Rodney McKay, head bowed over a tablet, never stood a chance.

Both men went down in a tangle of limbs - John with a loud grunt and McKay with an indignant "Ow!" John curled in on himself holding his chest and willing away the tears of pain in his eyes. Rodney realized he was the less injured of the two and scrambled over to John's side. "Oh Hey, You okay?"

"Peachy," John gritted out.

"Yes, well . . . hey! Wait! What the hell are you doing down here? You're supposed to be in the infirmary."

"Just taking an evening jog, McKay. Care to join me?" John ground out as he sat up and started using his feet to leverage his body up the wall.

Rodney reached out to help Sheppard but his hand stopped, hovering above John's arm. "No I don't want to join you for the idiot parade! You shouldn't even be out of bed! In case the loss of blood has caused brain damage – or more precisely more brain damage, let me explain that you are still healing and . . ."

"I'm fine . . ." John said, shooting Rodney a look that would have made the Artic Tundra seem like a warm, sunny vacation spot. THE look.

Unfortunately, the look that caused criminals and superiors alike to hesitate and weigh their options, seemed to have no effect on Rodney McKay as he huffily continued, "You are NOT fine. You have been shot – in the chest."

"Jeeze McKay, I didn't know you cared. You're going on like I died or something," John said as he closed his eyes and breathed through the pain, finally having gotten to his feet.

"You DID die – twice. Once in the chopper and once on the operating table. If I hadn't been able to reconfigure the base programming of the nanites to heal the chest wound, you would probably . . ."

Rodney's voice died when John grabbed the scientist's shirt in both hands. "You did what . . ."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Nanites, Detective. They're minute . . ."

"I know what they are Dr. Smug . . . That's why the hole in my chest is gone? How long have I been here?" John demanded in a threatening voice.

"Uhm, well, okay, yes to the first question and as to the second - I'm not sure," Rodney replied. Taking in Sheppard's stormy look, he continued defensively, "Well, it's not as if we have a lot of windows down here. I mean, hello, top secret government facility working all hours of the day and night to save the world . . . :"

"Then guess . . ."

"I don't know - two, maybe three days?" Rodney looked at the man hoping he had mollified him for the moment.

Apparently he had since John released the scientist, his anger draining out of him. So he hadn't been there for weeks - that was a relief. But then again, having tiny machines floating around in his body creeped him out to no end.

"Can you get them out?

"Get what? Oh, the nanites. They are already out – or should be out – mostly . . ." Rodney consulted his tablet again and started to mutter, "assuming your kidneys are functioning properly and you haven't been dehydrated in the last . . . "

"McKay!"

"Hmmw what?" Rodney looked up, "Oh yes, well, as I have already explained, I reprogrammed the nanites so as soon as they finished the basic repairs to your chest, they shut down. They're completely inert. Do try to keep up with the conversation, Detective."

John growled, pulling his arm protectively around his chest and began to make his way to the stairway doors again. "Whatever . . ." he muttered.

"Well, you could show a little more enthusiasm or oh, I don't know, how about some gratitude? You . . . hey, where are you going?"

"Home . . ."

Rodney stopped nonplus. "You can't just go home!"

"Watch me," John tossed back over his shoulder, pushing through the door.

"Stupid, Neanderthal, Captain America wanna-be, son of a . . ." Rodney went through the door after Sheppard.


	4. Chapter 4

John was doing his best to control his breathing and the pain in his chest as he caught sight of his objective – a back door. Unfortunately, the blathering scientist was following him, making any hope of a quiet escape disappear.

"Detective! Be reasonable! You're 75 miles from anywhere. You're still weak! What are you going to just sprout wings and fly? If you'll just slow down, we can head back to the infirmary and figure . . ."

Suddenly, a potent black rage boiled up inside of John. He had always been an easy-going guy in his youth but he had changed – Afghanistan and the resulting demolition of everything he had ever cared about had seen to that. Now, sometimes without warning, John could almost feel his consciousness, his self awareness burn away with rolling emotions of hate and rage. He had already been reprimanded to anger management courses twice by the department – not that they helped. In fact, that just pissed him off more.

And that was how John found himself with his forearm in the scientist's throat, slowly but surely cutting off the man's air supply. Lessening the pressure minutely, John tried to control the feelings that were a result of the last four days of chaos and pain and a loss of control – over himself and his life. Growling low, John said, "You can't keep me here . . ."

"You won't kill me," McKay whispered back, his voice sounding forced and weak.

"Want to bet?" Sheppard snarled. The truth was, now that John realized what he was doing, no, he wouldn't kill the Doctor - or even permanently damage him. He wasn't even really that angry anymore - but John Sheppard was a hell of a bluffer.

"Freeze! Release Dr. McKay or I'll shoot!" John grimaced. He hadn't even heard the M.P. come up from behind but he now he could see him just out of his line of sight. John eased the pressure on McKay's throat a little more but didn't move otherwise. "You want me to freeze or you want me to let him go – can't have it both ways," John replied sarcastically, not moving an inch.

"Let him go now!"

Sheppard looked hard into McKay's eyes for a minute more before abruptly releasing him and backing away with his hands held up. McKay slid to the floor as the M.P. grabbed John roughly, slamming him face first into the wall and pulling out cuffs.

When John hit the wall, the air was forced from his lungs and his chest pain radiated throughout his body. He focused on not letting his knees buckle and he tried to clear the spots in front of his eyes. From the ground behind him, John heard the scientist squeak, clear his throat and then try again. "Stand down Corporal." McKay's low, strained voice said.

It was a toss up who was more surprised – the M.P. or Sheppard. However, it was the M.P. who stuttered, "But sir, he was trying to kill you . . ."

McKay pulled himself back to his feet, gingerly rubbing his throat. "I said Stand Down, Corporal." McKay cleared his throat again and went on more strongly, "You are obviously over-reacting. The Detective and I were merely having a disagreement." Rodney said in the most scathing voice he could muster.

At the disbelieving looks both the M.P. and Sheppard gave him, he reddened and hastily continued, "over uh, dinner and whether to eat here or to uh go out, which of course is stupid, I mean where is there to go out . . . . which is exactly what I was telling the Detective when you came up. But you know these law enforcement types and their need for red meat, barbarians wanting it raw and dripping blood, oh, uh, of course I don't mean you when I say law enforcement, I mean, you know, non-military, uh, civilian law enforcement like the Detective and yeah."

McKay's diatribe died away and again he was faced with two completely flabbergasted men. The M.P.'s mouth was actually open a little. After 10 seconds of complete silence McKay continued.

"Right. So, uh, if you will just remove those cuffs, we'll all forget this ever happened and I won't have to report you to . . . whoever and Sheppard . . . John and I will order some Chinese in . . .

The lie was told so badly that it was almost painful for John to watch. And yet, it was such an unbelievable, bald-faced lie, it just might work. John recovered enough to realize that Rodney was trying to give him a pass – and as John had spent plenty of time in a military brig, he wasn't going to let it slip by.

"Yeah," John said twisting his face towards the M.P. and smiling in a lazy way. "Chinese sounds good. Especially those little chicken on a stick things." John felt the M.P. roughly grab his arms to remove the cuffs. John winced as the pressure to his arms aggravated the chest wound again but continued, "you can't have too many of those . . ."

The M.P. gave John a hard look and then turned to Dr. McKay, "If you're sure, doc?"

"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sure. John and I will just head back down stairs . . ." Rodney looked over and taking note of John's pallor and sweat covered face, took his arm in a tight grip, moving him back towards the door. As soon as they reentered the stairway, John pulled his arm from Rodney's grasp but the scientist didn't notice.

"Oh ho, I just saved your ass – I mean, wow, you owe me – you REALLY owe me."

"I don't owe you jack," Sheppard replied indignantly, slowly making his way down the stairs. "I would have figured something out . . ." came the unconvincing mutter

"Oh no you wouldn't have," Rodney gleefully gloated. "I just saved you from years in a military prison where pretty fly boys like you undoubtedly become some 330 Lb. marines' bitch."

"I would not!"

Rodney rolled his eyes and opened the door to the basement holding it for John. "Oh please, with that hair and jaw line? You would so be somebody's bitch! They'd be trading you around for cigarettes and stuff."

"Screw you, McKay!"

McKay chuckled but didn't comment.

John continued to move slowly down the hall with McKay matching his steps. He ground his teeth in frustration – he knew that after the rough treatment by the M.P. he was in no shape to make a get away now. He would have to try again later.

He cut his eyes at the man beside him. He wasn't sure why McKay had come to his aid but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. However, he wasn't going to entertain the man if he thought this was all going to turn out like a buddy-buddy cop movie. John didn't have buddies – didn't want buddies.

"So, what makes you think I won't just wait for you to leave and then try again," John asked.

"Oh, I'm sure you would try again but then . . . I know something that you don't know . . ."

"What" John asked but McKay continued as if he had never spoken.

"What I mean, of course, is that I know a lot of things you don't know. Really the plethora of things I know is astounding and that you . . ."

"McKay! Focus!" John barked in his best military voice.

It worked as Rodney came to a complete halt both in movement and speech. With a smug smile, he said, "I know where your clothes and your car are."


	5. Chapter 5

"_So, what makes you think I won't just wait for you to leave and then try again," John asked._

"_Oh, I'm sure you would try again but then . . . I know something that you don't know . . ."_

"_What" John asked but McKay continued as if he had never spoken._

"_What I mean, of course, is that I know a lot of things you don't know. Really the plethora of things I know is astounding and that you . . ."_

"_McKay! Focus!" John barked in his best military voice._

_It worked as Rodney came to a complete halt both in movement and speech. With a smug smile, he said, "I know where your clothes and your car are."_

"My car?" John asked incredulous.

"Strangely enough, the thing was riddled with bullets but the engine runs fine." Rodney took off again towards the end of the hallway

"Uh-huh." John replied, clearly not believing him.

"I may have done a little work on it. I didn't have much to do while waiting for you to wake up." Rodney replied, cutting his eyes at John to see if he believed him.

He didn't. He knew someone of McKay's intelligence and importance had plenty to do in an operation like this but John let it go. At least he had a way out of here now.

"Great! Where are they?" John asked as he moved slowly behind the scientist.

"Nope," Rodney said over his shoulder. "Not until you do something for me . . ."

"I thought you said I saved the world. That wasn't enough?"

Rodney stopped at a nondescript metal door and began punching in a code. "I thought YOU said that it was something that anyone would have done in the same place . . ."

John looked around focusing for the first time on the corridor they were in. As the door slid open, he realized this was the wing that housed the wraith. Visions of his nightmares swam in front of his eyes abruptly halting his movement.

Rodney noticed that the detective had fallen behind and stopped, looking back. "I just need a favor. It will be quick and easy and once you're done, if you still want to head back to that dream life of yours, I'll give you your clothes and you can be on your way."

John schooled his features and straightened his shoulders. "Fine. Let's get it over with." John tried to stride purposely down the hall but his injuries made it seem more like a hobbled gate.

McKay thought about commenting but withheld it. He knew John Sheppard was in pain and not just the physical kind. If he wanted this to work then he had to handle Sheppard very carefully.

Rodney keyed in a second access code and stepped into a dark room with John following closely behind. The door immediately shut behind him, leaving the two men in blackness. "Listen McKay, if this is what I think it is, I'm flattered but that comment back in the infirmary was just a joke," John said trying to hide his discomfort at not being able to see.

Rodney's snort echoed in the room but he only said "Lights."

The lights immediately flickered to life, illuminating the chair John had seen before. John looked at it fascinated, unaware that he was slowly moving towards it. He halted his approach when he realized that he and Rodney were not alone.

"Rodney!"

"Radek? What are you doing in here in the dark?"

The small man pulled himself out from under the console, hair flying around his face. "I was checking crystal realignment. Easier to see when it is dark . . ."

"Yes, well, I assume everything is in order?"

"Yes . . ." The scientist darted a glance at Sheppard and then back at Rodney. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

Rodney quickly strode over to Radek and placing a hand on his back, began to gently guide him towards the door. "Just giving the ten cent tour. I'm sure you have other, more important things to do."

Radek tried to impede his forward momentum. "Rodney, if you are doing what I think you are doing then I have to say it is quite possibly a very bad idea . . ."

Rodney never stopped, opening the door and pushing Radek outside. "No, no. we're fine here. Just showing him around."

Radek looked over Rodney's shoulder at Sheppard, who had a smirk on his face. "but . . ." The door slid back into place cutting off anything else he might have said.

Turning back towards John, Rodney continued, "Now, if my hypothesis is correct and it usually is, you are biologically identical to every other John Sheppard in the multiverse. And if the ATA gene is simply a biological marker, which is likely, that means you should have a unique ability."

"What ability?" John asked as he turned back towards the chair and he slowly reached out to touch its arm.

"To activate the chair with little to no effort." Rodney declared, taking in Sheppard as he slowly ran his hand up the arm and back of the devise like he both loved it and hated it.

Rodney wasn't far off. John had no idea why the chair enthralled him but it did – and he wasn't sure he liked it. The chair seemed to talk, reach out for . . . . . resonate with him. John nodded subconsciously as he found the word he was looking for. John slowly circled the chair studying the intricate design and carvings. "What does it do?"

"It actually does a variety of things including opening the stargate here and activating the defense system for Earth . . . we think. We haven't had a lot of luck getting it to work. The gene is . . . rare."

John raised an eyebrow but never looked away from the chair. "What do you want me to do?" John asked.

"Sit in it," Rodney replied with a challenging smile.

John tore his eyes away to look at McKay. "You know, the little guy may be right. This may not be the best idea you've ever had."

Rodney sighed, reigning in his impatience. "All my ideas are excellent."

"What if I say no? You can't keep me here."

"No, I can't. If you don't want to give it a try, then I am happy to show you the door. I hope you enjoy the walk." At John's angry glare, Rodney stopped, took a deep breath and tried again without the edge in his voice. "Look. I promise. It won't hurt you."

"I'm not worried about it hurting me," John muttered looking back at the chair. He wasn't sure what he was worried about. Knowing my luck, it's more likely I'll break the damn thing, he thought as he looked back to see Rodney impatiently tapping his pen on the console. John took a deep breath. Okay how bad can this go? he wondered as he silently turned, shut his eyes and sat down.

His eyes immediately flew open again when the chair instantly reclined and came to life. He heard McKay crow "I knew it! Now just don't move!" John glanced nervously over at Rodney to see him bent over the console taking readings. He didn't look panicked so John figured this must be right and forced himself to relax . . .slightly.

"Think about where you are in the universe," Rodney instructed.

John formed a picture in his mind and was startled when it appeared above his head. "Did I do that?" he asked with wonder.

"You most certainly did," Rodney replied distractedly as he noted the information coming across the screens.

John couldn't describe the feelings course through him as he watched the scene change above his head. For the first time, in a very long time, he felt connected to something outside of himself – something bigger. The chair was warm behind his back and John began to wonder what else it would do. He started with simple questions in his head - the location of the nearest whale pod, the square route of 582,169, the molecular structure for ammonia, Bilinear functional equations, anything else that came into his mind. The ceiling flashed with information like lightening and John grinned like a kid. This was the best he had felt since Afghanistan. It was almost as if he were flying again . . . almost.

"This is soo cool," John muttered to himself.

"Okay, now I want you to think 'defend Earth'" Rodney asked glancing up at John.

John's thoughts jumped to the wraith and immediately the chamber began to rumble, shaking as if a small earthquake had hit. John jerked as if he were going to leap from the chair.

"Not yet!" Rodney yelled over the rumbling. "You've got to back it down!"

"Back what down!? I don't even know what I'm doing?" John yelled back with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Just try and relax." McKay coached. "Think disengage."

John tried to steady his breathing. In his mind, he repeated the word, "Disengage . . . Disengage . . .Disengage . . . aw hell . . . . STOP!" The rumbling immediately ceased. John leaned forward and the chair came up right with him.

"What the hell was that?!" John demanded weakly as he stumbled from the chair, took a step forward and listed to the side. While sitting, he had completely forgotten he had been hurt and was surprised as the pain in his chest intensified.

"That was you, activating Earth's defense grid," McKay answered with a brilliant smile.

John grunted, placing a hand against the wall to steady his balance. Now that he was disconnected from the chair, he felt cold, distant – almost as if he had lost a limb. He looked back at the chair and could swear it was beckoning to him. He shook his head to dispel the thought. He needed to leave – now. He hadn't been prepared for the experience and it left him confused, weak and more than a little out of control.

"You could have warned me . . ." John hissed feeling his anger rising again. In an effort to control it, he palm the door switch and lurched out into the hall, away from McKay and the event that left unrecognizable emotions swirling through him.

McKay was following him. "I wasn't sure if you would do it if you knew."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," John replied blackly. "So, I held up my end of the deal. Where's my clothes and car?"

McKay sighed, disappointed. "So, that's it? You're just going to leave?"

"There was any doubt?"

"I thought you might change your mind when you understood what you could do – what you could be."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I'm talking about joining my team. I'm talking about Atlantis."

It was just as John feared. McKay actually thought he would just throw away his life and jump when 'duty called'. Yes, well it wasn't much of a life but it was his and it had been a long time since John had answered that call. These days he just let the answering machine pick up. I'm not home right now but if you will just leave a message . . .

"Not interested." John answered shortly. "My car?"

Rodney glared for a minute and strode away angrily. John felt a twinge of something – it was similar to regret for disappointing the man - but then it couldn't be since John didn't give a good god damn what McKay thought anyway.

John silently followed McKay up the stairs, his jaw clenched to keep him from saying anything he might regret later. After several turns, they stepped into a warehouse area. John could see his beloved, battered Camaro at the end and ignored the pain radiating through his body as walked quickly to the vehicle.

Glancing down in the front seat, he noticed with some disappointment but no real surprise that the money from wraith was gone.

"It's in the trunk . . . with your clothes." Rodney's voice sounded tired as John turned and watched him rub the black eye John had accidentally given him three days ago.

Something about that even made John mad. Who the hell was this guy and why did he care anyway. John knew exactly who he was – he was a screw up. His only family wouldn't have anything to do with him and his ex-wife, Sheila, had a restraining order against him. He had a shitty apartment and was currently unemployed. Sheila was right – he was a loser. He didn't need to be given the chance to prove it once again. He was actually doing McKay a favor by walking away – and if McKay was too stupid to see that, then it wasn't John's problem and he sure as hell wouldn't feel guilty over it. He had earned that money and he didn't owe McKay anything.

All these thoughts flashed through John's mind in mere seconds as he stared Rodney in the eyes. All he said was, "Appreciate it."

Climbing into the car, John started the purring motor, Johnny Cash's Solitary Man playing on the tape deck again. The car sounded better than it had in years. Pushing the gear shift into drive, he didn't move as McKay stepped up to the window.

For a minute Rodney looked like he was going to launch into persuasive argument and John almost hoped he would. However, he was both disappointed and relieved when all McKay said was, "Take care of yourself, John."

"You too," John replied gruffly, not looking the man in the eye. And then John Sheppard stepped on the gas, pulled out of the warehouse and drove off into the night.

End Part One of Four.


End file.
